


You'll Go Alone

by Eram_Quod_Es



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Cross-Posted on Tumblr, F/M, Gen, for kh-WorldsConnected fanzine project, this is a long story about simple things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-08-11 07:43:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7882600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eram_Quod_Es/pseuds/Eram_Quod_Es
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At Sora’s house, dinner was always at 7. It had been this way since his mother and father had moved in, and had continued to be a tradition ever since. </p>
<p>-x-</p>
<p>Sora’s mother can’t help but watch him grow farther away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You'll Go Alone

**Author's Note:**

> This came down to the wire! This fic was written for the kh-WorldsConnected fanzine project, with the theme "time"! I was partnered with Callofthemoon, who drew some lovely art based on this fic which you can go see [[here]](http://callofthemoon.tumblr.com/post/149537239915/here-is-my-submission-for-the-kh-worldsconnected) !
> 
> I've always wanted to read a fic that looks into how Sora's mom feels, and stuff in his childhood that affects him later on. Also, I don't consider Sora's mom or dad OCs since they are both featured or indicated to exist in the games (Sora's mom in KH1, Riku mentions his "friend's dad" rowing them to the island in BBS). That being said, please enjoy the backstory I gave them, even though I made it up! The title is based on [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6ejl_h9gh3M) and I recommend listening to it while you read!

At Sora’s house, dinner was always at 7. It had been this way since his mother and father had moved in, and had continued to be a tradition ever since.

The large grandfather clock by the door would toll, and his mother’s voice would ring like a bird through the house. “Sora, dinner’s ready. Come on down!”

This was what Sora knew, and when he thought of her every now and then, the chiming of the clock and a voice calling for him, he wondered if he’d ever hear it again.

Was his mother in a faraway place?

Or was it him?

* * *

The first time they met, she was a lonely little girl sitting on the shore, looking for shells in the sand while all the other kids went to the play island. She grew hot and tired, and as she checked the heavy gold pocket watch her grandfather gave her, the little arms lined up to the ornate 12 and 1.

As she pulled out her lunch, small fruits placed in separate cups and a sandwich with no crust, a boy sat beside her. His clothes were wet, his face red-cheeked from the sun, and his eyes were the brightest blue she’d ever seen.

* * *

7:00

“Dinner!” she called, tugging off an oven mitt. She looked at the slightly burned edges of the fish she’d tried to bake before glowering at her egg timer. Maybe it was broken?

“Aah, there’s nothing better than the smell of burning for dinner!” Her husband chimed in, hugging her from behind and whirling her around the kitchen.

“Oh hush, you! What sort of fisherman cooks fish worse than his wife?” she said in between her laughter.

“The kind that can cook everything else better!” he chirped, leaning her into a dip.

* * *

The second time they met, she was in her best clothes for a funeral, itchy and starched and hot under the blazing sun. Her father was inside the old watchmaker’s shop, sorting out what he called ‘affairs,’ which were not half as fun as they sounded.

“Why are you dressed like that?” he asked, salt-crusted shirt sticking to his skin.

“My grandpa went to a faraway place,” she replied, hand clutching her gold watch in the pocket of her dress. “Mom says we all go there someday. And when they go, you have to wear your nicest stuff to say goodbye.”

“Oh,” the boy said. “That sounds really boring.”

“No, it just feels sad.”

* * *

“Come on, Riku! We gotta go!” Sora called, racing out the door and tripping on the step outside.

“Sora, stop running!” she yelled, trying to rub sunscreen on a resistant Riku’s face and balance three boxed lunches on her knee at the same time. Sora yelped a flippant ‘Okay, Mom!’ before standing up and running down the path to the mailbox. “And Riku, stop pouting. You’ll get sunburn and I don’t want to have to explain to your mother why her son turned into a lobster when you go back tomorrow.”

Riku heaved a long-suffering whine but stopped squirming. She smoothed away one last dollop of sunscreen before resting her hand on his shoulder. “Take care of Sora today, okay?”

He gave her a long look before nodding determinedly, opening the door and nearly tripping on the same step Sora had as he stepped out. The shell chimes on the door clacked wildly, only stilling as her husband moved to step out of the door as well.

“Being a bit overprotective, aren’t you?” he said, leaning in to press a dry kiss to her cheek.

“I’m supposed to,” she replied. At his smirk she shoved the lunchboxes into his hands. “And _you_ take care of both of them. And be home by seven!”

“Of course.” He had always followed through on his promises.

* * *

7:00

She pulled the pot of stew off the stove and set it in the middle of the table as the clock by the door chimed. Wiping her brow, she raised her hand to her mouth and called, “Dear! Sora! Dinner’s ready!”

She sat down at the table, places set for three, and waited to hear the familiar thumps descending the stairs. A muffled cry signaled that Sora had fallen on the last step again. Her husband’s voice, equally laughing and soothing, sounded right after.

They entered the kitchen, crowding around the table, Sora’s head barely able to peek above the edge as he climbed into his chair. The sounds of her husband cheekily saying the carrots looked lumpy, Sora tap-tap-tapping his spoon against the bowl, the shell chimes on the door clicking together. These were the sounds she loved, the ones she couldn’t forget, no matter what.

* * *

The third time they met, she was sitting on the paopu fruit tree. She had begged and begged for her father to row her out to the play island, and he’d finally agreed. But when she got there, the island was empty. Her father had given her an hour, and now she watched despondently as the hands ticked away. This place was no fun if there was no one to play with.

She sighed and closed the lid, making to put the watch in her pocket, when someone grabbed it out of her hand.

“Hey!” she cried, recognizing the boy from before. “Give it back!”

“But you’re always staring at it! What’s so interesting?” he said, dancing out of her reach and shaking the watch. Its gold chain swung wildly.

“Stop it!”

“I’m just taking a look!” He held her back while trying to open the lid. “I’ve never seen stuff like this close before.”

“I-it’s not yours! That’s my grandpa’s watch, and he said only I’m allowed to have it!” She attempted to hop up and catch the watch, but the boy easily pulled the watch away again and ran on the far side of the tree.

“Well, he’s not around anymore, is he? Sharing it is better!”

She was so stunned it took a second to comprehend his words, but when she did she made a desperate lunge that knocked the air out of the boy as he toppled under her weight. The watch, its golden lid flying open, fell like a star into the ocean.

Gasping for air, the boy shoved her off and began to cry. She stared in shock at where the watch had fallen before jumping in. She could still hear his wails above her on the island, even as the salt water stung her eyes. Her hands sifted through the sand and water desperately, searching for the watch, but it had gone.

Just like her grandfather, it was lost to a faraway place.

* * *

“This is Kairi! She’s the girl they found on the beach, and she’s living at the mayor’s, and she looked lonely so Riku and I are gonna be her friends now!” Sora said, taking a deep breath. Riku nodded alongside him, while the little girl behind them shuffled her feet, looking nervous.

“I…see,” she said, eyeing the three. She had heard about the girl that had been found a couple weeks ago, but hadn’t expected to see her up and about so soon. “Did you ask Kairi if she wanted to be your friend? It’s no good if she doesn’t want to.”

“Of course she does--!” and “But Mom!” issued at the same time from Riku and Sora’s lips, and she had to hold in a laugh at the startled look on Kairi’s face. She cocked her hip and waited, indicating for Kairi to come forward before kneeling down.

Her eyes, a clear indigo, stared back at her. It felt strange, but it was almost as if Kairi was looking at something else, something far beyond this tiny place. It was unnerving, alien, and otherworldly, and for a moment she forgot to breathe. But just as quickly as the feeling had come, it also left, Kairi blinking up at her and smiling.

“I would really like it…if Sora and Riku could be my friends,” Kairi said.

* * *

The fourth time, they didn’t actually meet. She had been getting the mail, since her mother said she was big enough to go on her own now, and was surprised when she opened the box.

Among the crumpled envelopes and handmade market fliers was a brown paper bag. Taped to the top was a note, and on that note was her name.

Amazed, because she had never in her entire seven years _ever_ gotten a package, she gently pulled the bag out.

Inside the bag, she found a gold pocket watch, the hinges of its lid creaking as she opened it. The face of the watch had cracked and been packed with sand. As she shook it, the sand started to dribble out of a hole within the fractured glass. The hands no longer moved, and the picture of her family inside the lid had been ripped away.

The watch she had been so proud to receive. Her special gift, ruined. The sight was enough to make her cry again, but she held it back and fished out the piece of paper that had rested under the watch. It was covered in loose sand and smudged in messy pencil, but she could still see the words, ‘I’ll make it up to you, I promise.’

* * *

7:00

“Sora, dinner’s ready!” she called, raising her voice over a rattling boom of thunder that shook the house.

It was practically a gale outside, the trees bending sideways in eerie silhouettes against brief flashes of lightning. Sora scampered down the stairs and settled at the table. An extra place had been set, more out of habit than anything. Her husband wouldn’t be getting in until early morning.

“Is Dad gonna be okay?” Sora asked, rolling a pea around on his plate before stabbing it with the tine of his fork.

“He’ll be fine,” she said, though it was more reflex than surety. The sound of a tree branch hitting the roof startled them both, and she was left to dread and pray.

* * *

They had met a countless number of times. Sometimes it was difficult to remember, but sometimes the memories came to her, clear as a bell.

That boy had been her first friend, her best friend. He had called her weird, but said that he liked that about her. She also had the prettiest smile he’d ever seen, a comment which had earned him an embarrassed shove off the paopu tree island.

That boy had been her first crush. He was blunt and sometimes rude, but he made her laugh and not feel so lonely. When he dated another girl, it hurt but she tried to be happy for him. And when they broke up, she felt wretched for giving a sigh of relief.

That boy was her first love. They kissed childishly, and dated, and whispered into each other’s ears. Sickening and sappy and wonderful.

When he told her he’d be joining his father’s boat as a fisherman, she gave him a thalassa shell charm and warned him not to lose it. “This will be my lucky charm!” he had said, and brought it with him on each long trip out to sea.

That boy was her first husband, kissing her forehead as she sobbed and pushed. He gripped her hand, and stared in wonder as the doctor placed his son in her arms.

“Sora,” he whispered, for eyes as blue and clear as the sky.

* * *

She put on her best dress, black, with a bow that cinched around her waist and fluttered as she walked. When she had picked it out, he had told her she was beautiful, and they had pushed the coffee table to the side to dance around the living room, little Sora standing on their feet and swaying to the static-y radio.

She hadn’t found an occasion to wear it since, but now she straightened the bow and slipped into a pair of black heels with a stiff finality.

Sora was sulking off to the side in a small suit, which he had loudly complained was uncomfortable and that he hated it. She took his hand and they walked out of the house together, the ticking of the clock the last sound they heard as the door closed.

At the funeral for the group of fishermen who had been lost to the typhoon, she and Sora waited in line to place flowers on the caskets. Many coffins had bodies, but some were empty, their owners not found. On one such coffin, she placed her and Sora’s flowers down, then reverently set an old, golden pocket watch beside them.

“Is Dad in there?” Sora asked, gripping her hand tightly.

“No, Sora,” she said, running her fingers through his hair. He moved to embrace her, clutching at her dress. “Dad is…Dad is in a faraway place now.”

“Can we go there?”

“We all go there someday, Sora. Your father just had to…to go sooner than us. That’s why we put on our best clothes. We’re saying goodbye for now, but someday, we’ll meet again.”

* * *

7:00

Their first dinner without him was burned fish.

* * *

Sora and Riku were fighting. This wasn’t the first fight they’d had, but it was the first time Sora had come home slamming the door in such a huff that the shell chimes threatened to crack the door’s small, opaque glass panes.

“I never wanna see Riku again!” he loudly proclaimed, stomping through the living room and up the stairs.

She sighed, setting down the baking sheet she’d been preparing for the oven. The boys seemed to be getting in more fights lately. She couldn’t understand it, but Sora’s moods had been wild since…since the storm.

She walked up the creaky stairs and down the hall to Sora’s door, plastered with paper stars and stickers. She knocked twice and then gently eased the door open, spying her son curled up on the bed.

“Sora?” she asked, coming to sit beside him and pulling his head into her lap. “What happened with Riku?”

“He lied!” Sora said viciously, giving a little kick at his pillow. “He said that his dad was gonna take us to the play island today! But he didn’t! And Riku kep’ saying he was busy but that’s a lie ‘cuz we saw him and some lady at a café! And she wasn’t even Riku’s mom! If his dad just wanted to play with his own friends, he shouldn’t have lied!”

“Sora…,” she tried to say, but couldn’t find the words. This was information she didn’t know how to process. She tried to focus on Sora’s face instead, scrunched and snotty with tears. “Sometimes people have to change their plans. That’s just the way it is.”

“But Riku promised! You aren’t supposed to break promises!” Sora cried, voice becoming shriller as his chest heaved. “Dad said so! If you make promises you have to keep them!”

Her mouth ran dry. Promises. He always did keep his promises.

“Sora, take a deep breath,” she said after a moment. The words were hard to say, and the way Sora’s eyes looked at her… She also took a deep breath. “I know it hurts, but sometimes people can’t keep promises. I’m sure Riku was sad, too. He’s probably even sadder that you don’t want to be friends anymore. All you can do is try your best to keep your own promises, sweetheart.”

“I’ll always keep them,” Sora mumbled, burying his face in her stomach.

* * *

8:06

“Sora, you’re late! I told you to be home by seven!” she said, turning to face the door. Sora was taking off his shoes and grinning sheepishly.

“Sorry I missed dinner, Mom!” he said, slumping down in his usual seat at the table and practically tearing into the cold chicken on his plate. He looked tired, like he’d been working all day, rather than lazing and sleeping like usual.

“What did you and your friend do today?” she asked.

“Oh, uh, nothing! Just horsed around and stuff,” he replied, answer evasive as he stared at his plate.

“I see,” she said. She stood up, grabbing her own plate and the empty plate across from Sora, heading to the sink. It was the same answer as the last few days.

It was strange to think that Sora, her joy and pride and laughter and light in the dark, was growing distant enough to keep secrets.

* * *

“I think…something’s going to happen,” Kairi admitted to her one afternoon. The smallness of her voice was almost drowned out by the pattering of fat, heavy raindrops on the roof. Sora and Riku were usually making a ruckus upstairs, but they had been strangely quiet, only the scuff of a chair on the floor to indicate their presence.

“Going to happen?” she questioned, setting down a carrot she had been trying to cut evenly, though the results were more wedge-like than anything round.

Kairi chewed her lip for a moment, visibly trying to decide what to say, before settling on, “I don’t know if it’ll be dangerous. I just have a bad feeling. Things are going to change.”

It was unusual to see Kairi, so carefree and open, look so conflicted. The only term she could put her finger on was apprehensive. Kairi was almost scared.

“Well,” she replied, wiping her hands on a towel. “If there’s something troubling you, you can always talk to me about it. If it’s Sora being a knucklehead, I’ll knock some sense into him!”

Kairi giggled at the threat, and the sound made her smile. If she could have given Sora a sister…

“It’s just a feeling,” Kairi said after a moment.

She thought for a moment, contemplating the possibility that Kairi might be right. She could remember her first meeting vividly, the way Kairi’s eyes seemed to see beyond this tiny place.

“I have something that might help,” she finally replied. She left the kitchen area, Kairi’s curious gaze following her passage as she stopped at the dusty storage closet. She didn’t come in here often, frankly hated to open the doors, but she steeled herself and pulled on the doorknob. It was a closet filled with clean overalls, white shirts, and heavy boots. Old photo albums and yearbooks cluttered the shelves beside boxes of old craft supplies. She spied a particular box and quickly pulled it down, clutching it to her chest.

She set the box on the kitchen table once she returned and began pulling spools of thread and jars of buttons out, searching for something. Kairi gazed on in confused silence until she had pulled a jar out with a sharp ‘Aha!’

She poured the contents of the jar into her hand, revealing two dainty shells, colored cream and pink with three delicate prongs at its tip. “These are thalassa shells. Chances are the mayor hasn’t told you the legend, but around here, sailors make charms out of five thalassa shells to ensure they have a safe voyage.”

She gently reached for Kairi’s folded hands, pulling them open and placing the shells in her palms. Kairi looked on in wonder, pressing her thumb against a shell’s ribbed exterior. “I can have these? They’ll really help?”

She nodded. “I made one for--…I made one for Sora’s father long ago. Every morning I’d go out and search the beach. Thalassa shells can be hard to find, but if you try hard enough you can do it. He…he always called it his lucky charm.”

Kairi stared at the shells contemplatively, mulling something over before finally saying, “Thank you. Maybe a little luck is all we need!”

She watched Kairi smile and thought that perhaps it was all anyone needed, indeed.

* * *

“Riku, please look after Sora today,” she said, watching her son run out the door.

As always, Riku nodded. “I’ll take care of him, even if all he does is sleep on the beach.”

She laughed, gently pushing Riku out the door. Best friends were something special, she couldn’t help but think. Her husband had been hers, but even now she could hear his voice, chiding her for being a mother hen.

But she couldn’t help it. She was supposed to.

“And be home by seven, Sora!”

* * *

7:00

“Sora, dinner’s ready! Come on down.”

She waited a moment, listening for the familiar steps, but heard nothing. “Sora?”

She called a few more times before going up to his room, only to find it empty with the windows open. Dark clouds heralded a storm in the distance, violent and dark in its fury.

Unsure if he had gone to Riku or Kairi’s house without telling her, she grabbed the phone and sat at the kitchen table, first dialing Riku’s mother, who admitted that her son hadn’t come home, and then the mayor, whose secretary stated Kairi had come home briefly and then left again.

She set the phone down, staring at the three empty plates on the table. Always three and always at seven.

The distant storm grew louder, like a rumble and a shriek and the itching sound of ants on pavement.

The lights flickered, dimming and flaring before finally going out. In the darkness, she imagined her husband’s voice saying he’d go get the flashlight, and Sora scampering behind him. She imagined his cheery song and bright laughter, Sora’s smile as he and Riku made shadow puppets, Kairi’s eyes staring beyond this tiny place.

The ticking of the clock by the door kept her company as the world winked out.

* * *

“I know it’s late, love,” he whispered in her ear, hands folded over her eyes to hide, as he put it, ‘a stupendous and amazing surprise!’

“You’re being so secretive, it’s almost cute,” she said drily. “Show me already, I want to s—“

A grandfather clock, tall and made from lacquered cherry wood, standing by their front door. A gold pendulum swung back and forth, and its ticking filled the room.

On the face of the clock, among its intricate designs, the words ‘Our Promise’ sat elegantly.

“You’re such a sap,” she said, hand hiding her mouth as she tried not to cry.

“You don’t like it?” he asked.

She choked out a laugh and spun around to kiss him, whispering, “I love it.”

* * *

7:00

She set three plates out and sat down at the kitchen table. The clock chimed, and she moved to fill her plate, then stopped as she wondered why she had made so much. She had lived alone for years now, in the house she and her husband had bought from her parents.

Three plates was also too many. She placed it back in the cupboard after she finished eating and wondered why she had set it out in the first place.

* * *

When she was cleaning the house, she discovered a room she couldn’t quite recall, which was strange, as she’d known this house for years.

And yet, when she tried the knob the room was locked, and no key that she had would open it. It was certainly a mystery, but she couldn’t place her finger on why.

She had seen Kairi staring as she walked by the house on her way to and from school. Always at the same spot. She waved to her and invited her in every now and then, but the girl always seemed uneasy in the house.

“Has a boy ever lived here?” she asked once.

“No one but my parents, my husband, and myself have ever lived here.”

Kairi left after that, face clearly troubled. She wondered if perhaps Kairi was staring at the window to the locked room.

* * *

In her dreams, she sat at a full table. Her mother and father, her grandfather and grandmother, her husband, her son.

In her dream, she served them, and they ate until they were full. She would wave off her parents and grandparents, and then settle on the couch, her lug of a husband settling beside her, and her son laying across her lap.

They would fall asleep, and she’d count the ticks of the clock from the kitchen until it would chime and wake her husband up. Then they would get up and get ready for bed. Her son would whine about not being tired, but then crawl right into bed. She would hug him and listen to his heartbeat, its familiar ticks and beats.

She would go to kiss his forehead, but wake up at the last moment.

Then she’d rub the tears from her eyes and think about the boy in the dream, how much those blue eyes looked like his.

* * *

7:00

She had made too much again. Three plates.

She clutched her head and tried to remember why, but all she could see were her husband’s blue eyes.

* * *

“I remembered him,” Kairi said to her one day. She had knocked on the door and asked to come inside, which was surprising since she had always needed to ask her to come in before.

“Remembered who?” she asked, stirring her tea. She had gotten home from work, back aching and tired, and had sluggishly put a kettle on. Kairi had barely taken a sip of her own tea, her visible excitement practically leaving her glowing.

“The boy. His name.”

“The one you asked about before?”

“Yes!” Kairi said, face lighting up.

“Well, who is he? I’d like to know if a stranger was living in my house,” she said.

Kairi giggled, but simply remarked, “Starts with an S.”

* * *

“Sora,” she whispered, hand on the door knob to the locked room.

His name was Sora.

How could she have forgotten? Her son. Her joy, her pride, her laughter. The last light in her life.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, turning the knob. The door easily opened, swinging wide to reveal a dusty room, just as he had left it. Now he too had gone to a faraway place.

* * *

“He has your eyes,” she remarked as she watched Sora toddle over to Riku. They had become such fast friends. She really hoped they would grow up together. Sora gave a bright smile to Riku as Riku held out his hand. Their small fingers clasped together easily.

“And your smile,” her husband said. “Prettiest smile I ever saw.”

* * *

7:00

She sat at the table alone, three places set, as always. She stared at the remnants of her food, pieces of fishbone neatly lining one side like a crooked picket fence. She would have to get up and do the dishes soon, she thought vacantly. But not yet.

She waited and listened, the ticking of the clock filling the silence.

7:04…

7:05…

She rested her head on her hands, feeling her vision swim as her lips trembled.

If she could only hear his footsteps racing to the porch, the shell chimes on the door as they swung and clattered at his entrance. But the clock continued ticking, the sentinel of her life. If she didn’t keep count, she’d forget. She would forget him again, her joy and pride and laughter and light in the dark.

If she didn’t keep count, she’d forget to keep going.

At one tick past 7:08 there was shouting. At three ticks, a peal of bright laughter. At ten ticks, the thudding of heavy shoes on dirt. She lifted her head at whispering outside the door.

At thirty-three ticks, she stood, edging to the entrance. She hadn’t locked the door, she thought one tick later.

At forty-one ticks the door swung open and Sora entered, bright blue eyes flicking around until settling on her. At forty-two ticks he lunged at her with a cry of “Mom!”, hugging her tightly.

She lost count. Is this a dream, she thought. Am I dreaming again?

“I’m sorry I missed dinner, Mom,” she heard him speak, voice choked up, deeper than before. He’d grown taller, and as her head pressed to his breastbone, she realized she knew this heartbeat. It ticked away, a heavy tattoo of excitement and fear.

“You’re late,” she said, but couldn’t help smiling, tears wetting her cheeks. She hugged him back, just as tightly, the familiar feeling of sticky sea salt on skin, his hair brushing her cheek.

“I’m home.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading and I would appreciate any comments or critiques! I know it's probably horrendously littered with typos. I wrote a majority of this while sick, and I probably missed a bunch. 
> 
> I wanted the number motifs of 7 and 3, since those are also important numbers in the KH universe (7 princesses, trinities, etc.). The theme of time is addressed both by the time of dinner and by Sora's mother's involvement with clocks. I left out a scene regarding Sora's mother's grandfather, but in my head, he was a watchmaker and owned the watchmaker's shop she stood outside of in one scene. She later goes on to work in the shop, but mentioning these things didn't feel strictly necessary.
> 
> I also left Sora's mother and father nameless, which is why the protagonist is always denoted with 'she' and the husband as 'the boy' or 'he.' It didn't feel right giving them names. I hope it wasn't too weird to read!


End file.
